


I'll Take What I Want (From Your Heart)

by Nyxierose



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Accidental Found Family, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Thieves, F/M, Gen, Heist, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-16
Updated: 2015-02-15
Packaged: 2018-03-13 05:27:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3369509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyxierose/pseuds/Nyxierose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Basically, the heist AU.</p><p>Or, "revenge gets out of hand: the comedy".</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Take What I Want (From Your Heart)

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Na Na Na" by My Chemical Romance.

For the most part, Monty is a freelance businessman. Hacking came naturally to him in the same way that everything with computers did, and once he’d put the finishing touches on making sure he was getting into his first-choice college (which would’ve happened regardless, excellent grades and an alumni parent are a good mix), he figured he might as well make a little money off of his hobby. Five years later, still a hobby - just one that’s getting him through grad school. He’s going to go legit once he graduates and gets a decent job, he swears, and all will be completely right with the world.

Then he gets a phone call and everything gets put on hold. No, not just that - changed  _completely_.

It’s one in the damn morning and he’s approximately five minutes from completely giving up on his current project (trying to decide what flowers to send his mom for her birthday,  _way_  easier said than done) when his phone goes off. An actual freaking phone call. And even weirder, not from his mother or Jasper (high school bestie turned weed emperor of western Nebraska and fuck if anyone knows how  _that_  happened). Really, the only reason Monty even answers is because there is a ninety-nine percent chance it’s a wrong number and that just might be the distraction he needs.

Except that it isn’t a wrong number.

"Hello?" Monty asks, wondering what the odds are that the dingbat on the other end is even  _local_.

"Is this Monty Green?" the other voice asks. Low, masculine - completely unhelpful, but Monty  _knows_  he hasn’t heard that voice before.

"Depends on who’s asking." Literally six people have his phone number. He meant to keep it that way, but apparently someone else had other plans. Someone else, as in… shit, he knows who’s behind this and he’d threaten to end her if she wasn’t the most glorious headache of his life…

"I have a job for you."

"What are we talking? I need details and a rate. More emphasis on the details at this point."

"One of my contacts says you have a certain gift with bank systems."

Yeah, that settles it, if Octavia ever makes it back to Baltimore - or hell, anywhere on the Eastern Seaboard - Monty is going to have a very  _nice_  conversation with her about giving his contact info to randoms. (They met when a mutual friend tried to set them up, which was a big misunderstanding because Monty’s not all that into women and Octavia kinda had a boyfriend no one was allowed to know about at the time. Weird start for a friendship, but nearly four years later, O is… well, Monty has the highest respect for that woman, but he’s completely cool with her permanently staying in Vancouver.) This is not acceptable. “Depends on how complicated the system is. Also on how much incentive I’m getting.”

"National Atlantic. Flagship branch."

"Not helpful." Monty rolls his eyes. He’s gotten into National Atlantic before - their electronic security system is the worst he’s ever seen, everything his various classes have taught him  _not_  to do - but this random doesn’t need to know that. “I need to know what you want to get and where you want it to end up. Also, why that specific branch? Their server farm is south of DC, if you’re trying to-“

"I don’t need you to get anything specific," the voice says. "It just needs to be a distraction at that branch."

"A distraction that involves taking down the physical security systems for a certain length of time, I’m gonna guess. When and why?"

"Week from tomorrow, noon sharp. Reason doesn’t matter."

"Eight days is barely enough time to find a door. Most people arrange these contracts  _months_  in advance.”

"Can you do it or not?" The voice is annoyed. Annoyed… oh dammit,  _now_  they sound vaguely familiar.

"What’s your offer?"

"Twenty thousand. Cash."

Hell of a payout for something a monkey could probably do, Monty’s almost tempted to point out, but that’s more money than he sees in six months of his usual work so he’s not complaining. “Deal. And I’ll need to be nearby during the heist. There’s got to be a Starbucks or something within a block of there. I’ll text you the address and you can bring me the fee at eleven thirty. Understand?”

"I’ll have one of my crew make the drop and stay with you until it’s complete. Understand?"

"As long as they don’t hover, I can work around that."

Well, either this is going to work out perfectly or Monty’s going to jail next weekend. It’s just enough of a risk to be worth it.

* * *

At eleven fifteen on the designated day, Monty arrives at the coffee shop conveniently across from the bank in question. He’s actually been in there a few times before, afternoons when his apartment was too quiet for him to get anything done, and it’s easy enough to find a two-seat table in a quiet corner and get everything set up by five minutes before meet time. Really, all he has to do is press three buttons and monitor one feed and everything will be  _fine_ . Thank goodness for public wifi and the encryption protocols he perfected last summer is all he has to say on the matter.

"Is this seat taken?"

Holy. Shit.

In a second phone call with the team leader, who Monty still knows nothing about and really doesn’t  _want_  to know anything about right now (he’ll pry details out of Octavia or her partner in a few months when the dust has settled), the assigned monitor was described as darker-skinned, twentysomething, and carrying a cheap red backpack. The man standing opposite Monty is definitely all of those things, but there’s one detail that wasn’t covered - he’s  _hot_.

"N-no," Monty stammers, not sure what he’s feeling or how to handle it. Rule number one of doing these jobs is not to know anything about anyone, but he’s going to break that in about a minute tops and he’s not sure he cares.

"Everything okay?" the other man asks. He has searching eyes, almost worried - worried is bad, worried makes things really unnecessarily terribly complicated, worried is a situation Monty doesn’t need right now. "You seem… tense."

"I’ll be fine once the next hour is over with," he shrugs. "Just… not having a great day."

The pretty person - let’s call him that, Monty thinks, still a bit of disconnect - puts his hand comfortingly on the other man’s wrist. “You’ve got this. We’ve all heard stories. You’re the best there is.”

"Stories?" Monty repeats, though he’s well aware of how that probably happened and screw it there are _multiple_  people who are going down for this.

"Girl we’re doing this for  _insisted_  we use you as one of the conditions of the job. You should’ve seen how that conversation went. Funniest shit I’ve ever watched.”

A few things click in Monty’s brain, that this is ultimately a favor for the girl who physically dragged him out of his apartment on nights he didn’t want to be around anyone and probably saved his life in the process, and suddenly he’s okay with knowing things. “I can imagine. I’ve seen her get genuinely mad  _once_  and I tried to hide behind a folding chair.”

"Bet that was fun." The monitor looks away for a heartbeat, softening. "I’m Nate, by the way. Figured since I already know a lot about you…"

"Monty. I’m not sure if you got a  _name_.”

"Well, are we ready to do this thing?"

Buttons one, two, and three are go. “Yeah. Let’s do this.” What he actually means, he’s not sure, but right now he’s sitting in a coffee shop with a pretty person who’s definitely making eyes at him and this just might be the best day of Monty Green’s life.

"Y’know, we could use someone like you on the crew. Girl we usually use for tech has… better talents."

"I’m not quitting grad school in favor of a life of crime. Or whatever weird Robin Hood esque adventures you guys do."

"No one’s asking you to quit anything. Just saying it’d make a good reason for you to see me more often."

"Or I could just ask you out like normal people do?"

"How about both?"

Two hours later, when Monty leaves the café with a red backpack slung over his shoulder and a phone number inked on his inner thigh, everything is completely different. And beautiful. Very, very beautiful.


End file.
